the sound of his sister-in-law’s footsteps in the hallway outside his door. He had only seen her once since the hiding episode, when she’d brought him his Bible and his Confederate enlistment card, and that was two days ago. He didn’t think she’d been driven to hide again because he hadn’t heard Mrs. Kinnard’s distinctive voice for some time now—or if she had concealed herself, she’d found a more obscure place to do it.
He was feeling much stronger; he was awake and dressed and seated comfortably in the rocking chair by the fire, like the old man he had seemingly become. His appetite had returned—much to Mrs. Justice’s pleasure—but ever since he’d awakened from his laudanum-induced stupor, he’d found himself in the middle of a crossroad. Not a spiritual or an emotional one, but one that literally involved all manner of comings and goings in the house. People arrived in a steady stream at the front door, or they made their entry into the house at the back via the kitchen. However they managed to get inside, they all apparently had the same goal—ostensibly to deliver food and drink as a “welcome home” for him, but actually to satisfy their curiosity about his return. There was no surprise in that, of course; he had essentially come back from the dead. What surprised him was that the parade of would-be visitors continued despite the fact that none of them were ever allowed to visit. He had his brother-in-law’s sergeant major to thank for that, and he was grateful. It was a great relief not to have to talk to anyone. Unfortunately the one person he actually wanted to talk to was prone to hiding.
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